


Desublimation

by Verse



Category: Digimon Adventure, Digimon Adventure tri.
Genre: Blood, Character Study, Depression, F/M, Five Stages of Grief, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Making Out, Minor Injuries, Multi, Polyamory, Survival, digimon all star big bang, tri spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2019-10-06 18:24:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 15,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17350289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verse/pseuds/Verse
Summary: De.su.bli.ma.tion; noun: a phase transition in which gas transforms into solid without passing through the liquid phase; turning weak atom bonds into strong ones under high pressure.Or: in which Taichi, Yamato and Sora are once again stranded in the digital world, and the months they spend waiting for a portal to open.





	1. Taichi - Day one

**Author's Note:**

> sUP i'm back at it with my poly shIT
> 
> For once I've got the whole thing typed up way before posting so I can garantee a somewhat regular posting schedule (aiming for one chap a week) Hope y'all enjoy! I spent a lot of time on it ^^
> 
> This was inspired/based on this tumblr post: https://digidestinedramblings.tumblr.com/post/152504788881/celestialmiracle-the18chosenchildren
> 
> thanks for reading!

It’s over.

Taichi supposes, he should be feeling something greater, watching Ordinemon falling apart. Triumph, perhaps. Happiness of some kind. Because they managed to make it, and keep everyone alive and safe, and the world can pick up its course once more.

But the only thought circling Taichi’s head as bright light fills the sky is  _ finally, finally, it’s over, finally, no more _

He is just so, so very tired.

As least now he’ll know his answer to the trolley problem.

Omegamon crumbles, no longer needed- and so does he, honestly. The adrenaline crash makes his knees shake and leaves him feeling dizzy, dizzy, so dizzy. Oh, it’s not quite over- not while he still draws breath, not while there’s still a future to build- but decisions and pain and death and regrets can at the very least wait until he’d taken a ten-hours long nap.

God. This has been. The longest day.

Light-headed and spinning as if he was floating into space-

“ **Taichi** !”

More than his name, more than his sister’s voice, it’s the  _ tone  _ that snaps him out of his daze; full of surprise and fear and anxiety but  _ it’s over it’s over they ended it all there is no danger why does she sound like that _

It takes him a second to register that his feet are no longer touching the ground.

Oh.

At his side, he hears Yamato curse loudly and Taichi snaps his head the blonde's way- he’s floating, too, flailing as he’s dragged up into the sky. Dimly, he notices screaming and fretting in the background, but his attention is quickly diverted by the fact that- he is not-  _ getting down. _

Hikari suddenly seizes his ankle so hard that her nails dig into his skin- and  _ pulls _ . “Don’t you dare,” she seethes- it’s such a strange sight, his sister’s eyes painted red with pain and fury, his gentle sister who always felt too much for the sake of too many “don’t you  _ dare  _ getting taken away now, Taichi, I’m not done with you!” 

The sight is familiar, if the memory blurry- him and her, a gate calling in, a foot in between world- his life has been nothing but a déjà vu bingo ever since the reboot.

Somewhere, in a corner of his mind not occupied by  _ alarm  _ and  _ what now  _ and  _ act, react, survive, _ Taichi feels something akin to pride for her. Look at her go, this sister of his, standing up to him and picking her own bad decisions and finally  _ finally _ letting the world knows what she feels and what she thinks others be damned.

But it’s not enough. He’s still sliding up. Worse-  _ Hikari _ is being pulled up with him, dangling by his leg. Frantically, Taichi looks around- for a rope, for help,  _ anything _ -

He catch sight of Hououmon, Seraphimon and Holydramon moving in the water, trying to lift their exhausted bodies out of the sea. They look so small from where he is, it would almost be comical- but that means they’re too far and too slow and time is running out-

She already hates him, anyway.

“Open a door and get us in the Digital World!” He shouts. Hikari must know him too well, because her grip immediately strengthens at the implications and she looks up at him with defiance on her face.

Taichi smiles. He is so, so proud of her.

He raises his free foot and slams it against her shoulder.

Hikari winces- she tries to hold on, he can feel it. But her fingers can’t help but weaken at the sudden pain, and her hands slip on his pants until gravity calls its due. 

For a few seconds he watches her get smaller and smaller as she falls, then a flash of pink engulfs her and relief fills his chest- Holydramon caught her. He knew could count on her.

“Taichi, what the  _ fuck _ !”

Sora’s voice sounds muffled against the wind. He sees Hououmon straining to raise to his level, pushing herself higher than Seraphimon in a fit of desperation.

But she’s exhausted; the flapping of her wings is erratic, her gaze unfocused. 

She won’t reach them in time.

“Turn back!” He screams. His world is tilting already- like once upon a time after that day of fog. 

“Turn back!” It’s not him, this time, but Yamato- fierce and hopeful but also observant, and there is no way he can’t have spotted that the sky is closing around them.

Sora snarls on her partner’s back- and Hououmon launches herself in the air, beak open. Ready to snatch him, snatch Yamato, both, either one, just  _ save one- _

His back hits the ground hard enough to make his head spin.

For a few seconds, he doesn’t move. He feels heavy. And sleepy. After all the bullshit this day has been, he can’t help but savor the sudden quiet. He’ll worry about it soon enough.

“Alright.” Yamato’s voice is breathless, halfway between a groan and a pant. “Show of voices. Anyone still alive, say hey.”

“Hey.” A chorus of voices joins Taichi’s- Koromon’s, Tsunomon’s, Pyokomon’s, and-

“Sora, that was the dumbest decision I ever saw you take.” He says, because it’s  _ true _ . What was she hoping for, dragging them back down? All four of them? With a Hououmon on the verge of devolving?

“You dropkicked your own sister. Your argument is invalid.” Taichi cringes at that. Okay, that’s. That’s fair.

“You’re gonna get chewed out so hard when we go back.” Yamato says, completely unhelpfully. Why, thank you. Truly how to lift spirits.

“Whatever.” He says- because in one hand, he  _ will, _ and that sucks. On the other hand, he’s already fallen so low to his sister’s eyes today alone, he doubts this is the part she’ll hold the most against him.

If she hates him, so be it. If she never wants to see him again, so be it.

As long as she’s safe, he can deal with it.

He hears a shuffle on his left, and a groan. “Anyone hurt?” asks Sora.

“Nothing major.”

“Same here.” Taichi rolls on his side and pushes himself up, looking around. Where is…? Hah!

“Good. Good good. Neato.” Sora says as he crawls to Koromon. He gathers the blob and holds him close to his heart; losing him once was hard enough. “Because I have, like. A pack of tissues and a box of tampons on me right now.”

Taichi snorts. “Well, let’s try not to get severely hurt until Koushirou opens us a door again, right?”

“Agreed.” Yamato sits up and scours for Tsunomon. He’s covered in dirt and his clothes are drenched, Taichi notices. They all are, actually. “Speaking of which, how long do you think it’ll take?”

“Dunno. Couple hours?” Inter dimensional mechanics have never been his forte. Taichi has, frankly, no idea how much of Homeostasis or Yggdrasil or Ordinemon affected their ability to create portals. Though, it’s not like Koushirou could actually  _ fail _ to open one eventually. The guy has always figured a way out. Every single time. Taichi trusts him on this one. 

“If we get hungry, we can always scavenge for food.” He adds, laying back down. “We’re basically expert at that now, with how many time we’ve been thrown here out of nowhere.”

He closes his eyes. This has been one long, long day.


	2. Yamato - Week one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting this slightly early cuz i'm not sure i'll have time tomorrow

"We need to leave."   
  
Taichi looks up from his breakfast- a handful of black-striped nuts- and cocks up an eyebrow. "Sure? We still have some food left, but it can't hurt to get some more-"   
  
"No." Yamato cuts in. "I mean- we need to  _ leave _ . We should go find somewhere else to live."   
  
Taichi's chewing halts. Somberness is not a good look on him, Yamato thinks. "If we move, the others won't be able to find us when they reopen the door." 

It feels kind of backward, to have Taichi telling him to stay put while he insists they need to go forward. A recent pattern that doesn’t become any less jarring no matter how often it shows up.   
  
"No, Yamato has a point." Sora pipes up. "We're far from water, not in the best place to get food, and contrary to popular belief grass is  _ not _ a comfortable bed." (It really isn’t. Whoever first spread the idea that laying down on bare ground and watching the cloud was romantic clearly was immune to rash.)   
  
"And we're way too exposed." Yamato continues. He didn't expect Sora to back him up, but he  _ did _ expect her to be open to the idea. It's nice to see she thought about it as much as he did, though. "Too much open space. We must look like a free raw barbecue to anyone swinging in." Don't get him wrong; he's confident he can take on anyone foolish enough to show up. One-eyed, even. Still, that's no reason to taunt fate more than necessary. "Also. The rain."   
  
"Oooor maybe you're paranoid." Hah! _Weak_. Does Taichi really expects to convince him with this? Yamato can counter that easily.   
  
"Or maybe you're too naive." Sadly, that's the wrong tone to use, he realizes, when he sees Taichi's shoulders tense. Aww, shit. He'd never mastered the art of disagreeing with the brunette without aggressively butting heads.   
  
"Either way, that doesn't invalidate our other points." Thankfully, Sora knows their dance well, this fine line they keep toeing between rivalry and friendship and the urge to throw each other through a window. She deflects the argument right back on track before Taichi can open his mouth and spit fire back. 

Gently, she settles a hand on the brunette's shoulder. "It'll be fine. Our digivices have radars in them, remember? They'll find us once they're here." her lips curl into one of those reassuring smiles that make people a little warmer inside. "Obviously something's making it harder than it should be on the other side. Might as well get comfortable until they get here."   
  
Taichi huffs, rolls his eyes- but utters a "Fine." Seems like it was convincing enough. Discreetly, Yamato slips his fingers in Sora's free hand and gives it a light squeeze. She squeezes back. "We're staying on File Island, though."   
  
"Fine by me." The place is big enough as it is- and he doesn't think the Server Continent has a lot more to offer, anyway.   
  
"So. Where to, ô wise sidekicks?"   
  
Sora throws a nut at him at that- it vanishes into Taichi's jungle of hair, never to be seen again. "Screw you. I'm adviser, at the _very_ least."   
  
"We could go to the Yokomon village!" Biyomon interrupts clapping her wings, excited. "I'm sure they'd help us."   
  
That... sounds like a terrible idea. Sora is the first to answer, echoing Yamato's hesitation."I'm... not so sure, Biyomon." She toys with a stray leaf, frowning. "If it's only for a day or two, sure. But we don't know how long we'll be staying. I don't think they'll appreciate us freeloading the few resources they have."   
  
A true and fair point. "I don't think we should stay around people anyway." Yamato says. "Too much risks of friction." In another time, perhaps that would have been doable- but no one remembers them, here. If their own partners couldn't trust them at first, then none of the others would have any reason to.   
  
"Not surprised you’d suggest that, you freaking hermit." Taichi snorts. That's another nut flying to his hair. He  _ can _ be social when he wants to, thank you very much. He didn’t form a band by brooding in a corner. (Taichi would argue that isn’t it exactly how his emo band started, and didn’t they break up anyway? But that’s part of why Taichi thankfully can’t read his mind.) "Agreed, though. Also I'm vetoing deserts. And the icelands. And the sewers."   
  
"No objections here." Gabumon nods at his side, clutching his coat closer to him. The very concept of deserts must be absolute hell to him. Last time was already unpleasant enough. "What about Devimon's house? If anything, there were real beds here."   
  
"Isn't he still there though?” Sora points out. “We can't exactly stroll over and just, take over. That'd be stealing."   
  
Taichi shrugs, which is honestly, dare Yamato say it, a mood. "Yeah, but he's a dick so."   
  
"That's still stealing, Taichi."   
  
Taichi groans and slumps back, unconvinced. To be fair, Yamato isn't either, but he'll humor Sora. Unless no other option shows up. "What about Seadramon's lake?"   
  
"The lake?" The digimon perk up too, recognizing the place where they grew up this time around.   
  
"Yeah. I mean, there's water, there are fishes and a forest around, and hopefully by the time we get there the trolley will be there."   
  
"The what now?"   
  
Agumon’s question goes unanswered, as Yamato's friends ponder. "Always loved that trolley. It had cushions, for one thing." The one time they got to sleep on something soft. That didn't end in some kind of death trap, that is.

(Seadramon himself doesn’t count. A trap implies a minimum of intent and planning. Seadramon was just one big angry noodle.)   
  
"So. Sold?"   
  
"Sold.  _ But _ ,” of course there's a but. Yamato doesn't mind though; he got Taichi to agree, so he's basically already won. "We should stay here a couple weeks more. Just in case."   
  
"Deal." He doesn't even have to think twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'know i wrote all that six months ago and this feels a lot more dramatic than i remembered


	3. Sora - Week two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for blood and injuries

“Sora! Taichi! Help!!  _ Help _ !!”

They don’t wait two extra weeks. 

It only takes one for Garurumon to run back from food duty screaming bloody murder.

On his back, Yamato has a hand firmly set around the right side of his face.

There’s red running over his cheek.

Oh  _ fuck _

“Taichi. Water.  _ Now _ .” the brunette nods and promptly dashes with Agumon. Why didn’t they figure a way to store water earlier?? Laziness and hope for that damn gate are no help for emergencies.

Yamato gets off Garurumon's back with a grunt, palm still locked in place. Okay. Okay. If he can still walk, then he’ll survive it.

The wolf immediately starts fretting though, all wagging tail and low whines, and as sweet as it is that he worries it is. Not. _Helping_.

“Calm down.” Yamato says, free hand running in his partner’s fur. His voice is strained and his face pained. Just how deep is the damage? It may not be deadly, but Yamato’s expression hints to something worse than a simple forehead cut. “I’m not gonna die on you.”

“What happened?” Sora rummages frantically through her bag. She doubts tissues will suffice, but for now they’ll do. “Let me see your wound.”

Yamato nods without much fuss- good, she really isn’t in the mood for a contest of _no-I-can’t-show-any-weaknesses_ at the moment. As the sound of Taichi’s hurried steps reach her ears, the blonde removes his hand.

Biyomon lets out a soft gasp.

Oh. She was right.

It  _is_ worse than a forehead cut.

Three deep slashes bar his skin, from right above his left eyebrow to his cheekbone. Through the dripping blood, his eye is squeezed shut.

Yeah, tissues  _ definitely _ won’t be enough.

“Bad luck.” She’s glad Taichi’s back; knowing her childhood friend close by helps her keep her hands steadier. How are things supposed to go again? Jyou’s advice of  _ cleaning blood and foreign objects _ and  _ applying pressure to the wound _ and  _ stitching it keeping it closed _ muddle up in her head. Which one first ? Which one and how?

At least she can forget about that last one, because she’s sure she doesn’t have the equipment for it.

“I was careless.” Yamato continues. They both sit down, and Sora takes the drenched jacket Taichi hands her. The brunette moves immediately after to wrap both arms around Garurumon’s neck- to reassure him or keep him from disrupting her, she isn’t sure. She is grateful all the same.

“A gazimon snuck up on us- ah!” He winces when the wet fabric touches his skin, but doesn't flinch. “Had a lucky swipe. No one’s fault.”

Sora frowns as she wipes up the blood. Snuck up? She eyes the turned-back Gabumon, holding on Taichi like an anxious child his mother (which, considering Yamato’s family situation, might actually be a very insensitive simile.) One doesn’t just  _ sneak up _ on a digimon, even less one with a human at their charge; he should have picked up the scent. Or at the very least moved to avoid the blow. Garurumon is far from the slowest fighter.

…. then again….

If Gabumon saw it coming… would he know how to react?

There are no doubts that the digimon are equal in strength to their former self; just as fast, just as tough, just as powerful. But brute force is useless against cunningness; this takes wits to counter.

Experience.

Gabumon remembers. They all remember. 

Memories aren’t enough.

Memories aren't reflexes. Memories aren’t habits. Memories alone don’t let you associate an approaching scent with  _ danger _ , don’t fill your heart at every encounters with  _ wariness _ .

Yamato clears his throat, and Sora realizes she’s staring at the guilt-wracked digimon. “ _ It’s not Gabumon’s fault _ .” He insists.

“Of course not.” She hurriedly says. “I don’t blame him. No one here does.” By now, the jacket’s sleeve is permanently tinted red. But Yamato’s face also looks a lot less alarming.

Sora takes hold of the clean sleeve and pulls, tearing it at the seams. She hears Taichi make a quiet noise of dejection at the sight, which she elects to blatantly ignore. He’ll suck it up.

She ties the sleeve around Yamato’s face in a makeshift eyepatch and tighten her knot. “Keep this on. And keep your eye closed. No need to get it infected.” she just hopes it will be enough- she lacks both supplies and knowledge to properly treat the injury.

“Duly noted.” Yamato turns to Gabumon, then, and pats his laps. The digimon seems to hesitate (face full of fear and anxiety and  _ guilt guilt guilt _ ) but eventually gives in to break in a sprint and hug his partner with all the might of his short arm.

The scene is so sweet, Sora almost doesn’t notice Agumon sinking his claws deep into the bark of a tree.

“...you were right.” Taichi says, out of the blue. “We should have left. It’s too dangerous here. We make for easy preys.”

…

Oh.

Gabumon is not the only one feeling guilty, she guesses.

Agumon yawns and wipes his hands on his legs, shaking the wood splinters off his claws. Carved on the tree, a simple message:  _ gone to seadramon’s lake. _

“Well.” She says, pushing herself on her feet. “At least we don’t have a lot to pack up.


	4. Taichi - month one

The trolley train, as it turns out, is exactly as Taichi remembers it. Granted, that isn’t saying much; their first adventure happened almost a decade ago now. He can’t be blamed if he doesn’t precisely know how the trolley was supposed to be.

That being said, the location is the same, it’s still made of hard iron, and it still features the thrice-blessed cushion seats, so. Close enough.

(Now, the problem is that while the trolley hasn’t changed,  _ they _ certainly did, and fitting three full-grown adults in here is not as easy as it used to be. Still, this is still a massive improvement from the hard cold bare ground, so no one complains.)

“How’s your eye?” Taichi watches anxiously as Sora peels the bandage off Yamato’s face. Her hands are sure and steady. He’s glad she’s here; on his own, Taichi wouldn’t have a clue on what to do.

“Barely hurts anymore.” Yamato answers. Taichi slips to the young woman the shredded rests of what had once been his jacket, and a bowl full of water (carved out of wood by the digimon trusty claws; just drenching a rug isn’t efficient enough. Besides, it feels good to eat in actual recipients, as rough as they are. Feels closer to home.)

Welp, no ooze, no blood, seems like it healed well eno-

Sora frowns.

Why is she frowning.

Gently, she raises a hand and settles it on Yamato's cheek. The blonde blinks, surprised until Sora brings their forehead together and the most adorable blush spreads across his face.

As cute as it is though, Taichi feels like he should remember them that this isn’t really the time-

“This is not skin.”

…

What?

“What?” Yamato sounds as confused as he is. He is slower, though, so Taichi decides to take the matter in his own hands and get his fingers on the thin white scars.

It’s bumpy and kind of cold. The feeling doesn’t match exactly, but it's- very similar, to hugging Agumon or holding Gabumon’s hand.

A closer look confirms his suspicions, wild as they are.

“Oh my god. Yamato, you grew scales.”

“What? That’s not possible.” But it is; Yamato jerks away from the both of them and brings his hands to the lines of scales where his wounds closed. At the foreign feeling, he pales.

“I mean. None of us got hurt that bad in the digital world before. Maybe it’s normal here?” A valid point. Sora turns to Biyomon, hopeful- but the bird seems as lost as they are.

“I...I don’t know.” She admits. She eyes Gabumon and Agumon, but both shake their heads as well. “I’ve never heard of a digimon getting that kind of injuries before.”

“Yeah. We don’t just- get chunks of data chipped off. That would be super gross.”

Which...makes sense, doesn’t it? No one is made of flesh and blood here. Or- supposed to be, anyway. Raw data has no reasons to scar or otherwise repair itself.

“Or when we do,” Agumon completes, “we die.”

Well. Isn’t that a whole new level of unsettling.

“Really wish Koushirou was here. Bet he’d figure it out in ten minutes flat.” a thing not many people realize is that Taichi  _ gets _ Koushirou; they may seem like polar opposite to the outside eye, but their core is the same. Determined, bullheaded and impulsive. Taichi just happens so to spend this iron will on more, say, physical and concrete things, while Koushirou prefers a less tangible kind of challenge.

“If he was there we wouldn’t even be in this situation, though. He would have found us a way out day before I would have gotten… this.” ...yeah...also true… guess they’ll have to wait till they’re back to ask. Hey, maybe human doctors can fix it, even. (Probably not, but they’ve seen people come back from the dead. Even if that was a vampire, that does open a wide range of options as to what is possible or not.)

“Hey, bright side. Maybe that means your eye has healed enough to actually see!” Taichi smiles. He hasn’t felt like the carefree careless kid he used to be in a very long time. But pretending makes him feel a little braver on that regard, a little less sick. “Open your eye?”

Yamato seems to hesitate, for a second. Then, slowly, he lifts up his eyelid.

Sora flinches.

“That bad?” He smiles sheepishly. He turns his head around, left, right, and it takes every ounce of Taichi’s courage to not jump away from him.

“No offense, but you look like someone badly swapped your colors on photoshop, dude.” He ends his sentence with a nervous laugh. It’s fine. It’s fine! It’s just Yamato. It’s just Yamato. There is nothing to be uncomfortable about. Can he  _ please _ stop directing that eye at him.

Yamato gets up and dusts his pants. “I’ll look at my reflection in the lake. I better look metal as hell with your reactions.” He takes a step. “Oh yeah, for the record: pretty sure it’s blind now. I don’t see anything.”

As he turns to walk away, Taichi feels Sora’s hand setting on his shoulder.

“This is fucked up.” She whispers.

It is. Good fuck, _it_ _is_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> body horror good fam


	5. Yamato - month two

“I’m gonna build my own room.” Sora says one day.

Taichi pauses, turns to her, stares, shrugs and turns right back to emptying his fish.

“Not to doubt you but how you planning on doing that? You found a mine of bricks and concrete out there?” Honestly, Yamato wouldn’t  _ completely _ rule out the existence of such thing; the digital world has always been, pretty weird.

“No, not on File Island anyway.” she stokes the fire some more. “I was thinking of cutting logs and tying them up. Like that time we made that raft, remember?”

Ooooh, yeah, that could work? Yamato honestly isn’t versed enough in the whole building subject to tell.

He kind of wish Takeru was here with him. His brother  _ did _ help rebuild the Digital Worlds after the whole Kaiser fiasco, after all. But that’s a line of thought he tries not to hold on for long, because no problems has ever been solved by pondering over the what-ifs. A decade of embarrassing mistakes and Taichi kicking his ass made sure he’d learn that lesson.

(Also because it keeps reminding him that  _ Takeru isn’t here _ and the worry weights heavy in his stomach.)

“Guess we should try looking around for rope or something, then.” Yamato says. His friends barely flinch now, when his gaze meets theirs. He understands them really; he knows firsthand how jarring it is to look up and see pitch black where blue iris and white sclera used to be. Still, he can’t help that selfish relief that he doesn’t scare either of them quite so badly anymore.

“We could thread some from our body hair. I’m sure it’d work.” Taichi laughs, handing a few fishes to Yamato. And suddenly pauses, brows drawing together seemingly hit by an epiphany. “...wait, actually… we could, maybe… get that kind of supply from the surrounding digimon? You know, Monzaemon, Andromon?”

The blond blinks, mindlessly tying the fishes above the fire. “...that’s stealing though.”

“No, not like  _ that _ .” The brunette rolls his eyes, wiping his stone knife on the grass. “I meant as in. Trading stuff I guess? Just because society is basically nonexistent doesn’t mean  _ we _ have to stick to this no interaction thing.”

Huh. That doesn’t sound like a bad idea, honestly. Yamato kind of wishes there was some sort of town around they could just stroll in and go shopping to, though. That would make things easier.

(Come to think of it, there  _ were _ cities in 2002, weren’t there? Yamato distinctly remembers at least one Gazimon village back on Server, when Gabumon got captured by the Digimon Kaiser. Maybe that was a consequence of the whole Dark Masters debacle, digimon figuring out that banding together have a lot of benefits. Or maybe the two events were unrelated. Not like Yamato is going to find that out anytime soon.)

“Sounds great! Sounds great!” Agumon squirms, excited. “What do we trade? Fish? Fruits?”

“All those are things they can easily gather by themselves, though.” Biyomon points out. Agumon deflates at that with a quiet “oh”.

“No, no, you two aren’t thinking far enough.” Taichi grins. “We don’t really have anything of value.  _ But _ . We could trade services instead!”

Yamato feels the gear turn in his head. “You mean, like that one time we lent a hand to Mojyamon to find herbs for his fur?”

“Exactly! Just, pick up all the sidequests around here. Become the prime hunters we were always meant to be.”

Sora hums. “I’m down. No offense to you guys, you’re great and I love you and all that. It’s just… sometimes a girl needs some privacy, you know.” 

(Yamato does, in fact, know. Those last few weeks had been rich in awkward close-calls and accidental peeks. Way richer than he would ever be comfortable telling to anyone else. Catching Taichi shirtless and dripping is already bad enough.)

“Also, Taichi snores.”

“I do  _ not! _ ” There is so much  _ offense _ in his friend’s voice, Yamato can’t help but laugh. “Agumon, back me up! This is a blatant big fat lie! Lies! Lies and Slander!”


	6. Sora - Month three

Shit. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

Sora tumbles out of bed as soon as she realizes what’s going on. Shit. Fuck. She’s fucked. She’s soooo fucked.

She rushes out of her room to the lake-  _ why  _ didn’t she prepare earlier for that??  _ Why _ , of  _ all things, _ did she have to procrastinate  _ that _ .

Yamato blinks as she runs past him, white pupil shining like a moon of its own. Of  _ course _ dude couldn’t have been asleep already. Of course.

Curse his night owl ways.

“Uh.” He blinks, seemingly trying to assess the urgency of the situation. “Are you… okay?”

This situation is already as awkward as it could ever be. Sora doesn’t see the point in dancing around the truth. “I’m on my periods.”

Yamato lets out the tiniest  _ “oh” _ and turns five different shades of red in the span of a couple seconds.

“Periods of how long? Gabumon asks, the precious digimon. Yamato sputters, stutters, then promptly look away and mumble something incomprehensible when Sora drops her skirt.

“Not periods of  _ time _ .” She clarifies. She was wrong. Clearly things could become even  _ more  _ awkward. “Periods. Once a month I start bleeding for no reasons.”

“What?! That’s awful!” Gabumon runs toward her as she sits on the grass, paws extended to comfort her. Yamato looks like he wants to join to hug her, but he’s still hesitant to just look her way. Understandably. She  _ is _ naked from the waist down. Herself isn’t sure if she wants him to get closer or if she wants to keep whatever dignity she has left.

“It is.” she sighs. Freaking Darwin.

“Is-” Yamato clears his throat, determined to keep his gaze firmly on a faraway tree. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

The offer is sweet. But Sora doesn’t think there is. “If you find anything absorbent, that would be really useful. ‘Cause I ran out of tampons last month. Otherwise the only thing I can think off is help me wash the blood off my clothes. I don’t exactly have another set to change in.”

Gabumon nods decidedly. “I’ll scout the lake for sponges tomorrow. Or- or I’ll look for moss in the woods. I’m sure there must be something that’d work!”

The support makes Sora smile. She runs a hand over Gabumon’s head as a thank.

Yamato hums. “We. Should probably get to making new clothes soon anyway. Ours are getting pretty banged up.”

Sora raises an eyebrow at that- not that Yamato sees it. “We should, but how do you want us to do that? I have zero knowledge on how to make fabric. I’m not even fully confident i’d be able to pull off a vahine and make myself a coconut bra and a leaf skirt.”

Yamato frowns, thinking- he doesn’t know either, unsurprisingly. “We could use… fur? I mean, Gabumon wears some.”

The digimon perks up at his name. That would be a good point- but the little guy digivolved with it. Isn’t it basically his skin? Not connected to his body, sure, but he still technically grew it himself.

Gabumon pulls said fur further on his face, tail twitching with embarrassment. “I made it gathering stray data from Garurumons.” he says. Which sounds rather impressive, even if Sora doesn’t have the  _ slightest _ idea what that actually means.

“You’re smart.” Yamato says with a soft smile, which makes his partner blush through his scales. “Also, it just occured me that other digimons might have fabric of their own. Remember how we got our sail the first time around?”

Ooh, yeah, Monzaemon provided this one, didn’t he? She distinctly recall the giant teddy bear waving an oversized bedsheet.

“Worst come to worst we can always raid the curtains of Devimon’s house.” he adds, and Sora throws a couple blades of grass at his hair. “That’s not stealing, he probably doesn’t even use them anyway!”

She laughs at that. Fair enough.


	7. Taichi - Month six

And there is fire.

It’s been six moons since they’ve ended here. Taichi knows, because even the nights where the Moon isn’t clearly visible, Yamato’s silver pupil change to match its shape, full and crescent and absent and crescent again. Taichi has counted six FUCKING months,  _ half a  _ **_fucking_ ** _ year, _ since they’ve landed here, and they don’t seem any closer to come home.

The anger  _ boils _ under his skin- running lava in his veins and choking smoke in his throat and dizzying heat in his head all at once. The frustration claws at his bones like a caged beast, squirming and growling between his ribs.

Figuratively. Obviously, but the Digital World has always been weird.

Yamato’s eyes move in sync, but the monochrome one can never spot him by itself when Taichi approaches from his right side.

Weird and out for his  _ blood _ .

It’s been six months since they’ve been torn away from their own world, and that's six months of worry piling down his stomach. Is his mother okay? Is Mimi? Is Jyou? 

...is Hikari?

He remembers all too clearly what’s it like, to see someone get taken away before his eyes. He remembers it all too well, the panic and anger and helplessness (cold pod glass under his fists and breathless parting words in his ears)

His sister is what he looks forward the most, when it’ll all be over; to take her in his arms and properly apology and hear her voice again. Yet a small part of him can’t help but hope that she hates him; hope that his absence doesn’t hurt her as much as he knows it does.

He doesn’t talk much about it. Siblings, they learn quickly, are a subject to avoid.

(A fist to his face that makes his head rear back. Yamato snarls, all sharp cold ice and raging waves, but Taichi recovers too quickly to let him ready another punch. He grabs the blonde by the collar and bring their foreheads together roughly- not quite a full headbutt, but enough to shake the scrawnier man up.

“Stop it! Stop it!” Agumon and Gabumon plea at their feet, pulling and tugging at their legs. Neither of them care.

“You should have let Hikari come with us, instead of  _ attacking her _ .” Yamato spits. It’s so fucking  _ rich _ coming from him, because he sure  _ never _ got Takeru hurt in his obsessive need to protect him. “Hell, maybe we would already be back if she was here- her digivice can make  _ portals _ .”

Taichi growls, heat rising to his head- there is fire, there is fire,  _ there is so much fire _ . He prepares to answer with magma foaming at the mouth- but strong arms get between the two of them and force them apart.

“ _ Enough _ .” Sora’s tone is firm and finite; a knife through the argument. She knows better than to join in. She’s not a negotiator; she’s a clear stop, a closing door. “This ends here. You two go cool off.”

Taichi huffs, glares- but Agumon tugs at his leg with begging eyes, and so he turns around and leave. When he runs into Yamato again, neither apologize.

There is still fire.)

Truth is, Taichi doesn’t really blame Yamato for being prickly. They’re opposite; their opinions clash more often than not. But he  _ gets _ him; they’re from the same cloth, if weaved differently. Taichi knows that the guy is just as frustrated and pissed as he is.

It’s just that Taichi is  _ burning up _ \- choking on that rage in his heart that  _ won’t stop growing _ . Taichi’s burning, and Yamato’s all too willing to dip his hands in the flames, if it means he can sock Taichi in the eye too.

There’s fire. There’s fire. There’s anger and it has teeth, and Taichi wants to scream and fight and  _ burn _ until himself or the world breaks first.

It’s his fault, he supposes. He’d expected the Bureau to actually be competent. He should have learned by now that adults are useless. Wasn’t himself so much more efficient back when he didn't know what was in the realm of possibilities? Beaten and broken and traumatized as they were, he’d always managed to bring everyone home  _ alive _ back then.

The Bureau, he understands. But Koushirou. Koushirou. Koushirou. Koushirou, the boy next door who never learned how to give up. Koushirou, the friend who decoded the digital world pretty much by himself (because Gennai has always been shady, always been in tune with this world that wanted seven lost children dead.) Koushirou, who Taichi would trust with his life, who he’d admit to have nursed a small crush on once upon a time.

What the  _ fuck _ is Koushirou doing?!

Lazyness or carelessness- either way, he’s taking his  _ sweet fucking time _ . Late late late and Taichi’s blood is  _ boiling _ , something a lot like betrayal weighing heavy in his chest.

There is fire, and Yamato is sparkling ice. And there’s Sora, the voice of reason, working and straining to keep them from tearing each other apart.

He’s glad, that she’s here- that there’s a safenet preventing him from severely hurting anyone. But he kind of hates her a little, too, because she’s here and he’s angry and it would be so, so easy- to spit cruel words and harsh truth and to  _ burn her skin off. _

So Taichi runs.

He goes out more and more often, busying himself with whatever he can find. It’s a win-win- he’s away from anyone he could hurt and he gets to pour this extra energy into something productive.

He doesn’t go alone, obviously. Greymon is here, usually- sometimes Agumon (but never anyone else. Because there is fire, and Skullgreymon’s empty eyes are too vivid in Taichi’s mind to gamble a further evolution.)

They go, they walk, and sometimes, they fight. It’s a tough world out there, and not everyone seems to have gotten the memo that he is not. Beatable.

(Maybe, some of those fights are unnecessary. But Taichi is rough tumble and tactless flames, and sometimes they just so  _ happen _ .)

They go. They walk. They fight. There’s fire beneath his skin just waiting to spread out and an awful glee in his heart whenever they win.

They go. They walk. They fight.

The heat of the battles mess with his head, hyperfocused on his goal and how to reach it and  _ nothing else _ .

They go. They walk. They fight.

Through the fire, Taichi doesn’t notice the stray Snimon.

“ **_Taichi_ ** !”

  
  
  
  


The scythe is cold on his throat.


	8. Yamato - Month nine

And there are embers.

It doesn’t come easily, to him. Patience that is- it’s not in his nature. He’s running water in endless rivers, flowing slow or fast but never  _ stagnating _ . Not that Yamato is averse to stopping, mind you- he can make himself into still ice just as well. But inactivity have always been a choice him- not something  _ forced _ upon him like a collar on a wolf.

Still he tries- to contain the freezing water in with his bare hands, to douse the fire under his paws, to swallow back the growls behind his teeth. He tries, because he has seen the alternative- because otherwise, the three of them are going to collapse.

(None of them say it out loud, but they’re all afraid of removing the thick bandages around Taichi’s neck.

“Sliced by a blade!” Greymon had screamed hysterically, carrying his partner back to camp. 

“Sliced by a Snimon!” Blood dripping off his hands, Taichi’s gaze empty. But for all Greymon’s screaming, Yamato knew- they all knew. Further than the physical wound, it was Taichi’s own fire that had gotten him burned. No one wanted to do the same mistake again.)

There are embers- there’s still anger, deep down. He builds a dam out of memories of hardships to bury the flames. He could do it, once upon a time- back when he was weak and fragile and so ignorant. He has been through so, so much worse- cleaning plate after plate to repay a debt that only kept deepening, wandering for weeks looking for a boy they’d last seen flying into a black hole, cooking by himself while his father was at work, yearning for those blessed weeks of summer where he could finally see his dear brother.

Yamato has waited, in the past, for a very, very long time. He can wait again.

Sora helps. She’s winds and feathers pulling them in the eye of the Storm, putting the fire out when his fangs get hard to rein in. 

It must be exhausting for her, this constant pacifying- keeping an eye out for sparks, scraping her palms containing explosions. Yamato is only half blind; he notices, the dark circles under her eyes, the tiredness in her voice. All the more reasons to try harder.

He tries. He tries. He tries. There are embers- Yamato isn’t sure they’re ever going to go away, not completely. But it does come to him. He learns it, how to be patient; that gentle art of dulling his own recklessness.

He can afford to wait, he rationalizes. There are no worlds to save, no monsters to chase and fight. His father can take care of himself; he’s an adult, one who saw his sons leave one day and come back the very next with scraped knees and steel-hard stares. Takeru will be okay; he’s handled himself well enough in the year 2002. All his people- they’ll be alright.

Yamato knows, he is wanted. He is appreciated. He is irreplaceable, experience and company and dry humor alike. But he is not  _ needed _ .

They will live- his people, his family (his pack, Taichi had said once, jokingly, and Yamato had rolled his eyes and punched his shoulder because he was way too embarrassed to admit that the word resonated with his soul.) They will live. And so will he, as long as he  _ hangs on _ .

There are embers, deep down. But they’re not warm enough- Yamato doesn't  _ let them _ get warm enough to burn Sora and Taichi any more. He pulls his weight, gather fishes and fruits and favors, work on their shack and their patch of land, and above all he tries to  _ live _ .

He doesn’t miss the relief on Sora’s face when the conversation heads to dangerous territory and one of them swiftly change the subject. She laughs, and Taichi laughs, when he retells an unfortunate encounter with Numemons. Yamato’s gaze jump from the bags under her eyes to the bandages over his skin. He will protect these laughs. He will.

There are embers. He ignores them.

He won't lose those he has left because of his stupidity. 

(None of the trees by the lake talk. But if they did whisper to him, Yamato would make sure of listening to Gabumon this time.)

He comes home to find Taichi sitting on the shore, feet dipping in the water.

His bandages lay disregarded at his feet.

Oh.

Taichi turns to him, and Yamato can’t help but flinch at the new sight. Taichi smiles, with something a little like sadness and a little like acceptation, and speaks low as if it was a secret. “I’m still angry, sometimes. Often.”

Yamato swallows hard and nods. “Me too.”

Taichi’s wound has healed well. He breathes and he speaks with no hindrance of any kind, and that should be enough.

His throat has grown teeth.

“I’m glad,” Taichi says “that you and Sora are with me.”

The setting sun reflects on the sharp enamel under his jaw.

“Me too, Taichi.” It’s a new sight, but Yamato will get used to it quickly enough. “Me too.”

There are embers.

He lives anyway.   



	9. Sora - Twelve months

And there are ashes.

It takes six months- six moons, six circles of the eye- for the anger to die down. It takes them a near death experience, seven almost fistfights, and dozens of violent insults to finally,  _ finally _ calm down.

Sora is so, so very tired.

The stress and subsequent lack of sleep has worn her the bone. She may never have been directly in the middle of the crossfire, but just being in the splash zone had peppered her skin in sparks. The boys are way too willing to bare their throat to each other to actively target her. This doesn’t make witnessing her two best friends mauling each other any more fun.

There are ashes. After so long toeing around the topic, they can finally step in the grey powder without fear of burns.

“You know what’s good?” Taichi says, blowing over his soup. “Coming home after a long day and  _ not _ have more homework on top of that. This is what freedom tastes like." He raises his bowl "Mushrom soup.”

Sora laughs and taps his back. “We’re gonna have so much to catch up when we come back.”

“Then better enjoy the extended holidays while we can.” Yamato comments, smiling.

It’s good. It’s  _ so good _ to hear them talk about the good old times with their claws tucked in. It’s so  _ good _ to be able to finally let her guard down, to not have to keep an eye out at all time for fire to douse.

It’s so good, fresh wind under her wings ruffling her feathers, that she barely notices how they talk about it as if they’re never coming back.

Taichi comes home one day, gardening tools over his shoulders and toothy smiles up, because the guy has always been the innovator at heart.

“I had. The _best_ idea.” He says while the digimon gather around a hoe with confused expressions. Sora doesn’t imagine they make use of those often.

Yamato raises a quizzical eyebrow, waiting. He’s ready to pick whatever plan Taichi cooked up apart for any flaws. That’s how they function; one of them find something, the other pull back, and somehow they manage to find a better, safer middleground from it.

Taichi spins, arms spread, pointing at the empty field between the woods and the lake. “We could grow stuff here!”

Sora’s breathing halts.

Yamato nods, seemingly impressed. “That...is, in fact, a very good idea.”

“I know right? Imagine when we’ll be nailing it- regular food! Lots of food!” He’s beaming, like the sun of his crest, and the conversation turn to what crops they could grow and how to, all the digimon piping in.

Sora stares, silent, unnoticed, as her friends start planning for the months and years to come.

_ Oh _ , she thinks, as it dawns on her.  _ They’ve given up. _

There are ashes. She should have picked up earlier what exactly was burning.

It gets more difficult to get up in the morning from that moment on.

Her mind works in circle, a hurricane of thoughts pulling her back every time she tries to hide in the eye of it. They’ve given up. They’ve given up. Ashes blown to her eyes and and ashes in her lungs.

Maybe she should, too.

It has been- a year, twelve months, three hundred sixty five days- since they’ve landed here. That’s a long time. That’s one  _ long _ fucking time.

Does Koushirou think them dead? They  _ did _ get sucked in a land of monster, after all. They’d survived here for a couple months, last time, when they were inexperienced and breakable. But at what cost? They’d broke apart, fought each other, almost ended up dead or enslaved or manipulated- really, it was only by luck or fate that they’d made it. She wouldn’t blame him for thinking they’ve lost their lives- they’d come close twice already.

Or maybe the Bureau was wiped, simply. By the reboot or by the government- Sora doesn’t know what are the damages to the real world. She remembers the acid rain and the melting buildings- but what about the internet? Is it still running? Are computers still in use? Maybe there are no means on the other side to reach for them.

Or maybe… there’s a third option, one that chills her to the bone.

Maybe they’d forgotten about them, simply.

The Digital World seems to have its way to wipe itself off memories. The sky  _ broke apart _ in 1999, and again three years later in 2002, and humans still  _ forget _ \- they keep written records and tabs, work on it from the shadows, but most people seem to just… ignore, this foggy night locked up by a vampire.

Hell, themselves forgot too, didn’t they? Not the Digital World, not their partners, no- this is nothing they could just  _ forget _ , not without taking the whole world with them.

But they forgot their comrades. Daisuke, Miyako, Iori… shame creep up Sora’s chest at the thought. They forgot. They  _ forgot _ . They saw Ken in the Emperor’s skin and they thought  _ nothing  _ of it. Takeru and Hikari forgot about  _ their own jogress partner _ for  _ fuck’s  _ sake.

There is no help coming. They are not going back.

She is not coming back.

She’s never seeing her mom ever again.

She’s not…

Did she tell her mother she loved her? Did she tell Mimi? Did she tell Jyou?

There is a universe, out there, where she didn’t catch up with her boys in time and was locked up on the other side. How is she doing? Who could she have been? Mourning for dead friends and losing their memories, growing and studying and becoming- what? A florist, a designer, a bartender?

It doesn’t matter, she guesses. Those are futures she’s forever locked out of.

She’s not coming back.

There are ashes- when she breathes, when she walks, when she thinks. Her mind turns fuzzy, food turns stale on her tongue, jokes fail to her deaf ears.

Why get up in the morning? She’s not going back. She’s never going to. It’s so easy to lay here and stare at the roof, when there’s nothing to look forward to.   


She still gets out of bed, eventually- if only for Biyomon, if only because her friends are eyeing at her with concerned faces and muttering her name in hushed whispers. She makes the effort- but she doesn’t fool herself. She’s here for them. But none of them  _ need _ her. Biyomon made that much clear, amnesiac and independant post reboot.

There are ashes. They taste bitter.


	10. Taichi - One year, two months

"I haven't seen Sora in a while"   
  
Taichi flips the toy around to scrub the wooden plane's belly, tongue poking between his teeth. "She's not feeling so well right now. She's taking a break."   
  
Monzaemon hums and nods in understanding. Satisfied with his work, Taichi releases the toy from his grip, which immediately takes off to fly far from his wet hands and soapy water.   
  
The bear is not the first one to ask, and he will certainly not be the last. Sora is well-liked in the neighbourhood, gentler and more tactful than Taichi but still more sociable than Yamato.    
  
She's well-liked by Taichi, too, this childhood friend of his who bears with him at his worse, who laughs with him and who can easily arm wrestle him into submission. Maybe that's why it hurts so much, to be pushed away, to be powerless and useless. But he just... doesn't know how to help.   
  
Taichi's demons are very different from her’s or Yamato’s, the teeth on his throat are a constant reminder of that; when Taichi is hurting, he  _ goes _ , as far and as fast and as roughly as he can; until he breaks himself apart and leaves a trail of his crumbled sanity in his wake. Worry and desperation alike translate to hyperactivity on his part. He doesn't know how to help someone who just... stops.   
  
If anything, Yamato's tendency to get edgier than a deviantart sonic oc seems to give him a vague idea of what to do.   
  
"Don't let her isolate herself." He tells him. There's some wisdom in that, Taichi thinks. He remembers well, once upon a time, the safety of a warm house away from cold and hunger and sharp claws- remembers the choking anxiety around his neck as Hikari asked if he was okay, as he realized his team was on the other world of this side and he was  _ alone, alone, alone. _

As the bearer of courage, he would know; few things eat away your will to stand more, than the belief that no one is here to catch you and no one would notice if you fell.   
  
Often, Sora leaves on hours-long walks with Biyomon. Yamato goes with her every times, even though she doesn't ask. Taichi doesn't know where they go. He doesn't know what they talk about then. Maybe they don't at all.    
  
Taichi doesn't really mind being the only one left keeping the house up and running, as long as he's sure Sora isn't alone. That, at least, is something he can do to help.   
  
He finds funny stories to tell her around the campfire at night. The role of jester is one that had always suited him, even back before he'd found himself wearing the coat of leader and engine. It comes easy to him, to lower his voice to impossible levels and play puppet master with a holed sock over his hand.   
  
"And then Ogremon told us- his club is a Skullgreymon bone, can you believe? Of course, I told him it was  _ Greyt _ , but he didn't find it funny. Virus-types truly can't handle real humor."   
  
Sometimes, he makes her crack a smile. Sometimes, it's even a genuine one.   
  
He likes to think that he eases her nightmares, if only a little.   
  
He doesn't know if Yamato is aware of those. The blonde is a night owl, but once he's asleep, a howling Garurumon cannot wake him up (that much he knows from experience). Sora's sobs are quiet as a mouse, barely reaching his ears through the walls.   
  
Not that Taichi blames him. He already does so much. He already helps so much, while Taichi just sits duck and pats himself on the back when he get a fake smile. While Taichi is just so fucking  _ useless,  _ idiotic  _ coward  _ who everyone seems to want to save at the cost of their own life but can’t even help a single person back, alone in a tube and alone in a bed as a bloody hand waves-   
  
Oh,  _ fuck _ it.   
  
She startles, when he slips into her room.   
  
"Scoot over," he whispers "it's cuddling time."   
  
"...we're not six anymore, Taichi." She complies, though, so Taichi knows she doesn't really mind.   
  
"Well, who do you think is gonna file us up for public indecency? Yamato?" He sneaks under the blanket and throws a couple limbs around her. "He can join us if he wants. We can be indecent together. Like a big, spoony threesome. A supportive threesome. An emotional threesome." He pauses, pondering over whether or not to make an inappropriate joke- and decides screw it, might as well. "Besides, it's nothing you haven't seen before."   
  
She laughs- an honest-to-god, clear laugh, and Taichi has never felt so blessed. "It would be, if you were just a little more careful when bathing." She presses her back against his chest, warm skin against warm skin.   
  
"I can't deprive the world of the Yagami greatness, Sora. That'd be a crime. Also Yamato makes the greatest faces whenever he sees my thighs."   
  
She snorts again. "To be fair, they  _ are _ pretty great. Soccer did wonders to you."   
  
"Aren't they though?" Smiling, he nuzzles her neck and closes his eyes. She hums in response, which he takes as a sign that they're done for tonight. "Goodnight, Sora."  _ I'm with you, I stand with you, I'll always be with you, please don't ever think you're alone, _ he means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *forgets to update for two days in a row* my bad


	11. Yamato - Year one, month four

There is… progress.

It’s slow and subtle. Almost unnoticeable, really. She still has a long way to go to okayness. But there  _ is _ progress- and it seems steady.

She eats more, for one thing. Doesn’t pick at her food nearly as much, hasn’t tried to slip her plate to Agumon in secret for weeks now. 

Yamato will never thank Taichi enough for bringing food on the table; he knows it’s unfair, to push all responsibilities on him, let him fish and clean and run errands. Yamato still tries to make the most of the situation, picking fruits during Sora’s walks, but he has no doubts that Taichi is currently carrying his weight, Sora’s, and his own every days.

The guilt is poison in his guts, the taste bitter over his tongue. And yet there is nothing he can do but trust Taichi’s shoulders to be sturdy enough, because there is no way he’s letting Sora cutting them off.

He gets it, really. It’s familiar to him, this urge to be alone, to keep everyone at bay. One needs silence to hear themselves think clearly.

Yamato also knows, though, that isolation can only be detrimental in the long run. Gabumon taught him that much. It’s all too easy to turn your head in an echo chamber of negativity otherwise. He may not remember the dark cave from his youth that clearly, but the impression it left on him is still burning; any ghost is welcome when your house feels empty.

So he goes with her. They wade through the sands of the Yokomon’s desert. They scale up and down Infinity mountain. They follow the rivers to the sea.

It’s not as random as it seems. Yamato notices, she always picks a location she knows will be empty of questioning inhabitants at the time.

They don’t talk. He’s an intruder, here.

They walk. Birdramon comments, every once in a while, on the winds and the weather and the local wildlife. Rarely, Sora replies. When they take a break, Yamato sits next to her and whistles a tune. He was never all that skilled with the harmonica anyway.

Until one day-

she speaks.

“We’re never going back, are we?”

He starts at her voice. It has been… a while, since the last time she’d initiated any conversation with him. Or anyone. But at least Taichi is better at getting reactions out of her.

Behind his back, he feels Garurumon tense- his eyes are closed, but he’s awake for sure. Perched on top of Centarumon’s temple, Birdramon turns her head to look at him.

They are expecting things from him. He really hopes he won’t disappoint.

“Probably not.” It’s not a subject they ever brought up- not out loud, anyway. It’s not something he really likes to think about either, because it’s too easy to make it sound like  _ giving up _ when really he’s  _ healing. _

But what he has come to accept, what he knows Taichi has come to accept, is this: if help comes, let it come. But until then, assume it won’t.

If he’s learned anything from his parent’s divorce, it’s that clinging to hopeless dreams does not do anyone any favors.

“How can you just… move on?”

Yamato smiles, and moves to set a hand on her shoulder. He’s not so good, at expressing his feelings- not the way most people do, not verbally. But he’s been practicing for years now, to put his thoughts in lyric and music. He got this. He got this.

“When we first met,” he starts, “I was. Really emo. Pretty overdramatic, looking back.” 

It’s kind of funny, in a way- he thought he was broken and  _ rotten _ , over- what? His parents breaking up? But also it’s very much  _ not _ \- because he was  _ ten _ , he was a  _ child _ , a kid who suddenly had to carry responsibilities and his brother and his father and he was hurting so much and he was a  _ child _ . 

“I don’t want to spend my whole life feeling like this. I want to live. I want to be  _ happy _ .”

Gently, he takes Sora’s hand. “It’s true that I probably won’t- see Takeru, ever again.” and that’s a wound he doesn’t think will ever quite heal. “But… I have you. And Taichi, and Garurumon. I want to build a future with  _ you _ guys.”

Sora stays silent, for a moment, and Yamato is afraid he messed up. But eventually, she squeezes his hand.

“I see.”

They don’t bring up that subject again. But from this day on, she starts speaking during their walks.


	12. Sora - Year one, month six

It’s hard.

She knows, rationally, that Yamato is right: they’re in the digital world to stay. She knows, that it would be better for everyone, if she could just move on. She  _ knows _ that it not something that can be fixed; not by her hands, even if she tried, and that she might as well accept it.

But it’s  _ hard _ . Good gods, it is hard.

It aches; this pit of loneliness she should not have if she is love incarnate. She argues with it that it has no reason to exist, but this abyss laughs and throws back at her images of her mother and father and Mimi and Jyou. 

She has yet to figure out how to reason her way out if her feelings. She tries, nonetheless, because she has had enough hurt for a lifetime now, and she just wants to be  _ happy _ .

Thankfully, she has help. She doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to find the right words to express how grateful she is of them.

There’s her partner. Of course, always. Birdramon more often than not, these days. Birdramon who patiently kept speaking to her- who might as well have been talking to a wall- when she was at her lowest. Birdramon who indulged her in her travels, Birdramon who pushed fruit and fish her way when Taichi wasn’t looking and Sora had half a mind to leave her plate untouched.

Maybe, Sora thinks, Birdramon feels guilty for forgetting about her; for rejecting her. Maybe she’s trying to keep Sora from forgetting about herself, too. Or maybe it’s not that deep and she’s just worried because that’s what partners  _ do  _ when they’re hurting- a cave around their heart or a hand around their throat. Sora always had an affinity for overthinking things.

There’s help from unexpected places, too.

She’s at home, that day, because Yamato has to help out Taichi with something, and they get worried when Birdramon is the only one with her. She’s scrubbing clean her spare shirts to give her hands something to do and her mind something easy to focus on, when she smells smoke.

Meramon is here.

She’s not quite sure how to react. Because Meramon is here- but he’s not supposed to; digimon are creature of patterns. He should not be here, so far from home. 

Biyomon stares. If it’s an attack, she’s ready for it.

“I haven’t seen you in a while.” Meramon says.

Sora shifts uncomfortably. “Really?” She plays dumb, because she’s been avoiding the guy for weeks now and it’s awkward as hell.

“The others told me you were not feeling well.” He continues, apparently failing to notice the tense atmosphere. “So I brought this.” He lifts up a basket of goods. “Get well soon.”

Meramon is the first, but he’s far from the last. Centuromon, Ogremon, Yukidarumon- those who do not visit, she runs into during her walks, all bringing worries and wishes and pats on the back

She has a place in this world, Sora realizes. It’s not a matter of dealing with what cards she’s been given. She  _ already _ left a mark here. She has a future, here.

And of course, when it comes to help, there’s also…

They are warm, those boys of hers. Yamato, who joined her in bed a couple weeks ago, back against her skin because the bed is only so big and because the nights get cold. Taichi, an arm and a leg over her, sometimes over Yamato, shamelessly pulling them closer and tighter when the blankets aren’t enough.

After all this time, all they went through, all they lost- not even once have they given up on her.

They care. They care. All of them- they care so much it hurts.

She’s alone, in this world, that’s true. But she’s alone with the most important people in her life.

So she tries. She tries. It’s hard and it’s painful, but she won’t be the only one giving up on herself. She  _ will _ earn her happy ending.

She speaks up, more often. She eats, and sleeps. She walks less far, less long. She starts being productive again, fishing and picking fruits and visiting neighbouring digimon for errands. 

And, one day, she finds that she doesn’t have to force herself to laugh.

She can live here. She will live here.

She has a future. She will make it a good one.


	13. Taichi - year one, month nine

And maybe it’s inevitable, when you share everything with the same closed group of people- food, work, laughs, life. Maybe it’s just human nature, to be greedy and needy and to latch on the only people around who can provide some warmth.

Except, well, that it does kind of sound like bullshit. It’s not like having a romantic partner  _ is _ a human necessity. He knows that for a fact, because Mimi told him one day, chatting at one in the morning, that she really didn’t get the whole dating thing and why is everyone so obsessed with romance anyway?

(Of course, it could just be a quirk of her’s, the same way Hikari feels uneasy without something around her neck, or Koushirou’s hands flap when he gets excited, or Takeru seethes at demon icons on his way. But even though, Taichi doesn’t think it would invalidate his point. Out of all of them, Mimi is arguably the most in tune with other people; the most normal- the most  _ human _ , in the rawest sense. She is  _ purity _ to her core. So if Mimi does not feel such a thing as romantic attraction, then Taichi has no doubts believing that it is definitely not, popular beliefs be damned, a key human need.)

Or maybe- a most likely theory, it’s the remnants of his old childhood crushes stirring back to life from prolonged exposure. Feelings from a time long before he had the words to understand them, long before he would connect his flushing cheeks and beating hearts to something other than friendship or rivalry.

But the answer doesn’t quite satisfy him, either. He’ll admit, without shame, that he’s never quite let go of these silly crushes of his. But that does not mean he’s been pining. He’d stored them away, along with memories and fears waiting to be forgotten, and he had moved on. Simply.

It’s. Harder than he’d expected, to rationalize this infatuation of his. He’s never been good at introspection. Taichi has always been the heart to Koushirou’s brain.

If anything, though, it means Taichi has an easier time listing the facts than explaining them. And the facts are those :

Yamato is beautiful. Blonde ponytail falling between his shoulder blades and monochrome eye and fiery spirit. He is beautiful, with his deep voice, with his awkward smiles, with his sly fingers constantly beating an unheard rhythm.

Sora is soft. Not  _ weak _ , the difference is important;  _ soft _ . Soft in heart, with her kind touches and gentle empathy. Soft in body, with her fluffy hair and smooth arms.

They are beautiful, and soft. It makes Taichi feels something beautiful and soft, too.

He’s in love. Not because of an old fondness for the people they used to be (Yamato hasn’t been so ready to brake in years; Sora hasn’t tried to pull off the tomboy facade in just as long). Certainly not because they just happen to be  _ there _ . What are either of these things, to a guy who might as well be half of his soul, to a girl who might be up one or two with the saving each other’s lives count?

Taichi’s in love. He can’t quite explain why. But he knows that’s a fact.

He doesn’t really intend to say it, ever. It’s not a secret; he just doesn’t see the point, when he’s pretty sure it will be unrequited anyway. And… alright, fine. He’s a little shy, on that kind of things. It’s not something he has experience bringing up successfully.

But ah, well. Things happen.

They’re sitting by the campfire, at the time. Yamato is narrating an adventure of his with a flock of Numemon (he stutters a bit, clearly unused to making words without music backing it up) and Sora is laughing with him (oh how he’d missed her laugh, her real laugh, light and bright and  _ happy _ ) and they are so breathtaking at this instant it just slips out.

“I love you.”

Sue him, he has always been a creature of impulse.

Taichi can almost hear the record scratch as his companions suddenly freeze. “What?”

“Uh.” He answers eloquently. He wants to backpedal, but he doesn’t want to lie either. “Nothing? Forget it.”

He sees Sora frowning, struggling to decide if she should just ignore it, let the awkward moment pass- or maybe, trying to figure out a tactful way to ask.

Yamato, on the other hand, never had any moral claims stopping him from aggressively confronting him. “Taichi, what the fuck.”

Well. Let it be known that  _ he _ asked.

“I,” Taichi takes a deep breath, and gathers his courage. “I love you. The two of you. Love love you, I mean. Romantically.”

Sora’s eyes widen and Yamato’s hands go still. Taichi can’t entirely read what they’re feeling- bafflement and shock, sure, but anger or sadness? Confusion or discomfort? He can’t tell. Maybe they don’t know, either. But for sure, whatever they’re feeling is pretty intense.

“It’s no big deal.” Taichi quickly reassures. “I’m not, actually expecting an answer or anything. Let’s just pretend I never said anything.”

He’s not actually lying, Taichi realizes with surprise. It’s not like there are a lot of opportunities around to take anyone out on a proper date- not on File Island, at least. Server had restaurants and amusement parks, if nothing else. Oh, he definitely wouldn’t say no to touching them more- he’s caught himself dreaming about that more than once, awake or otherwise, which led to some very awkward mornings.

But honestly? He’s fine like this. What they have already- it’s enough for him. And it’s all he’ll ask from them.

He loves them. Deeply. He’s in love with them.

The only thing he really wants- the only thing he really needs, is the chance to build a future with them.

Taichi gets up and stretches, startling both his companions.

“I’m just gonna… go.” he says awkwardly. Call him a coward, but he’s done his share of reckless bravery for the day. “I’ll sleep in the trolley tonight, if y’all don’t mind.” No need to make the situation worse by sharing a bed so soon.

No one tries to stop him as he leaves. He’s glad; he doesn’t think he would have had it in him to play it off as nothing for much longer.

(The night is cold. Still it’s a small price to pay, Taichi decides, for his slip-up.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk if this is a taiorato fic y'all can tear aro lesbian mimi out of my cold dead hands


	14. Yamato - year one, month ten

Yamato would never admit it out loud, but he is kind of jealous of Taichi’s ability to turn a blatant blind eye on problems. This one-track mind of his had caused its fair share of friction between Yamato and Taichi, but right now the blonde would give an eye (the bad one, he’s not  _ that _ desperate) for the ability to stop overfixating on his best friend’s crush on him.

Well. Him and his. Girlfriend? Question mark? They  _ have _ been dating, prior to this whole mess. He loves her, still- that’s not the problem. But they’ve never really… talked about it, since they’ve landed here. They’ve never been big on marks of affection before, and being shoved yet again in a less cool version of minecraft survival mode pretty much shoved those at the bottom of the priority list. 

Then again, they’ve been settling up for a while now. Now would be a good time as any to bring that up. They’ve been through more embarrassing things than asking “hey by the way are we still an item.”

And he should deal with Taichi, too. Make it clear that thank you, he’s flattered, but not interested.

…

…

…

Except that would be a big fat lie, wouldn’t it.

Okay, so. Taichi is. Easy on the eye. Sue him, Taichi got  _ thighs _ , and Yamato got rather close and personal with them during the months they’ve spent together. In a cuddle way, not- this sounded wrong. Deliciously wrong. Not that Yamato would  _ mind _ getting to- nope nope lusting after his best friend is the  _ last _ thing he wants to do right now.

Urgh.

Yamato doesn’t  _ find  _ a lot of people attractive, in general. On top of his head, he can count- Jyou, maybe? Mimi, definitely. Sora, obviously. And Taichi. If it’s not someone he’s close to, it’s safe to say that Yamato isn’t interested. He used to be glad of that, when he saw his bandmates flail over some ad with a pretty pair of leg on the tin. Now though he’s experiencing the unfortunate downside that he has  _ no idea  _ how to deal with attraction.

“Fucking Taichi.” He says, mopping dust out of the shack. 

Sora nods, scrubbing plates. “Agreed.”

It  _ shouldn’t _ be confusing. He should be turning Taichi down and moving on. Yamato never considered Mimi Dateable despite how attractive she is (not that he had a shot anyway, he’s always been under the impression that her affections laid in girls and girls only.) He shouldn’t be dreaming of kissing boys and held hands just from some pretty skin.

“Do you think,” Sora is the one to voice out his thoughts “it’s possible to be in love with two people?”

Love.

That’s a dangerous road to follow.

“I guess. Taichi does at any rates.” The conversation is necessary, Yamato knows, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling eight shades of uncomfortable during it. Sue him, he’s not good at feelings. Or intimacy. “That’s your crest, you would know better than me.”

Way to pass the ball, Yamato.

Sora hums, brows knitting in a thinking frown. A few seconds pass in silence, until her hand halts over a fork.

“Do you think it’s possible? To date two people and make it work?”

This is a dangerous, dangerous,  _ dangerous _ rabbit hole.

“I- I don’t know.”  _ two people _ alone might not even work. Three? That’s a disaster waiting to happen. Double the frictions, the disagreements, the fights. But then again,  _ love _ is a disaster waiting to happen. “It’s not conventional.”

“I mean. We’re doing worse unconventional things right now.” Sora says, waving at their surrounding- the shaky shack, the digimons napping on the roof, Taichi on the other side of the lake harpoon in hand. 

That is fair. “I’m not in love with Taichi, though.” Yamato says. But he will support Sora through hell or highwater- or dating their best friends.

She snorts at that. “Aren’t you now?”

No. No. Absolutely not.

It’s bad enough that’s he’s attracted to boys at all. Yamato does not-  _ will  _ not allow himself to fall in love with  _ Taichi  _ of all people. He’s hot, Yamato will admit it, but! This! Stops! Here! Yamato only had passing thoughts because he’s attractive. Nothing else. And if he was confused and hesitant about the sudden confession, it was because… because…

If it’d been Jyou, he wouldn’t have thought twice to turn her down.

“...Fuck.”

Sora smiles, and sets down the flatware. “Thought so.”

She gets up and move to him, extending an arm. “I think, we should talk to Taichi. We can finish all that later.”

Yamato pauses. He looks at her. He looks at her palm. He looks at Taichi from afar, soaked and laughing with Agumon with that (beautiful, flutter-inducing) loud chuckle of his.

He takes her hand, and they set off together.


	15. Sora - year two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is rated M for MAKING OUT!

They don't plan any of this

The morning light gently pulls her out of her sleep, slowly getting aware of the heat on her side and the chirpings outside.

Taichi’s in the middle, this time. He’s the warmest, as well as the one who minds physical contacts the least. (And the one they’d missed the most, during that awkward month of figuring their hearts out.) 

“ 'morning.” He greets her, rolling to kiss her cheek. He’s an early bird, much like her; his crest  _ is  _ a radiant Sun. Sora wonders if her sleep pattern might be linked to Biyomon’s fire attribute. It wouldn't surprise her.

Her trail of thoughts changes course, however, when she feels the boner on her thigh.

Huh.

Taichi pays no mind to it and rolls right back the other way to kiss Yamato’s forehead, who grunts and and pulls the blanket over his head. Sora supposes she shouldn’t either; it’s not the first time she’s felt either of them in the early morning. They’re past the point of caring now.

...she kind of wants to feel it again, though.

Taichi sits up and stretches, arms up. Maybe it’s his bare chest; or maybe it’s the way his throat teeth click quietly, or the inviting curve if his back.

Sora taps gently at his shoulder, feeling bold. When he turns to smile at her, she kisses him.

It’s soft, like most of those they’ve shared so far. Loving and gentle, a silent caress.

It’s nice. But Sora is hungry.

It quickly devolves from there.

It’s warm. It’s hot. It’s scorching. She climbs on his laps, and  _ oh _ , there’s tongue. Her hands find their ways to his hair, pulling him closer.

“Holy shit.”

She shoves Taichi back flat against the bed at Yamato’s voice.

“I- erm- you-” the blonde is staring, mouth agape, and Sora doesn’t know what to say. Sorry? She’s not sure what she’d apologize for.

Under her, Taichi starts chuckling- something nervous and just one step below hysteria. “what, you, uh, you wanna join?”

She almost swats the brunette’s chest at that, because this is. Not helping.

Except it does, apparently, because Yamato swallows hard and leans in to kiss their boyfriend.

Oh

O h  _ boy _ .

Aren’t they a beautiful sight, two boys in love and happy.

Sora loses herself for a moment, hyper aware of all the little details before her- Taichi’s hands reaching for Yamato’s ass, Yamato nibbling at his lips. God, she loves them. The two of them. God, she loves them so much.

She grinds down without thinking, still on Taichi’s laps. The moan he lets out makes her forget how to breathe.

“T’s- not fair.” He says, high-pitched, when Yamato moves to kiss his ear. “Double-teaming’s- cheating.”

“We didn’t… plan on it.” She replies. Nonetheless, she doesn’t stop bucking her hips. She hadn't realized, how much she’d wanted this- not sex (well, not  _ only _ sex) but more simply, to touch and be touched; to anchor her boys with her, to feel them here and with her and  _ alive _ .

Yamato gasps quietly- music to her ears. Her gaze trail to see Taichi’s hand between the blonde’s legs, shamelessly palming.

“This just in, I never did it with a dude.” Taichi amends. Sora sees his fingers slip under Yamato’s boxers, and she’s positive she’s never been more aroused in her life.

She sees Taichi tugs, earning a whimper, and Sora watches greedily. She’s never...been this far, with Yamato. Even before the whole mess, they’d stuck to makeout sessions and heavy groping.

They’re a sight to behold, the two of them. Flushed, panting, bulges in their underwears. Sora can’t help but let her own hands travel too, cupping her breasts.

“W-wait, hold on, fuck.”

They all freeze.

Yamato shakes his head, breathing heavily. “We should… move a little. I wanna… touch you guys too.”

Oh, yeah. Yeah, that’s fair.

Taichi raises on his elbows, chest raising rapidly. “I’m...down. This, uh. Wasn’t the best position to give a handjob.”

There’s shuffling as they move. Taichi sits up properly. Yamato crawls closer. A hand gets on her hip, another on her shoulder, and as warm as they are Sora can’t help the rising anxiety at the sudden attention.

“W-wait, guys. We can’t-” she shakes her head, tries again. “I don’t want to get pregnant.”

They wince at that. They have a good life, here. But she doesn’t think it’s quite safe enough to raise a child yet.  _ She’s _ not ready to raise a child yet. She’s only- nineteen now? Twenty? Too young for her world and too young for this one.

“It’s fine.” Yamato says gently. His hand leaves her shoulder to take her own, squeezing. “We can just… lend each other a hand, so to speak.”

…

Sora  _ snorts _ .

“A pun. Really now?” And just like that the tension is gone.

“Hey, it was a good one!” He protests. Taichi’s laughing by now, too. Yamato tries to look offended, but his eyes shine with happiness and mischief.

“It was. It really was.” She admits. She pulls him to her and presses her lips against his. She loves him. God, does she love him.

Arms wrap around the both of them, pulling them into a tight hug. “I love you guys.” Says Taichi.

“Me too.” She breathes back. “Me too.”

“...so, you guys still wanna do this?”

Sora laughs, because the tone is so innocent, while the question is very much not. “Hell yes. How are we doing this?”

Taichi presses a kiss on her temple and takes her hand. He guides her to him- hard, needy, scorching him. He guides Yamato to her, drummy thin fingers against her inner thigh. And he lets his own hand nest right back between Yamato’s legs.

“I have a few suggestions.”


	16. Taichi - Year two, Month three

"I have to say, I'd have never thought this would work"    
  
Taichi shoots Devimon a grin, dirt-covered hand stroking a leaf from a digibanana. The patch of field they'd allocated for this experience is small, but a good half of it is blooming with colorful crops. (It's a wonder, though, why the digiapples barely grew. Was it sunlight? Water? Soil quality? Lack or excess of? He'll have to look into it with the others later.)   
  
"Told you. We know our stuff! Or, at least, we have a rough start of our stuff." It's not like they  _ have _ to master agriculture to survive- fishing and scavenging works well enough for them. They can afford some trial-and-error on their way to comfort.   
  
The digimon hums and nods, failing to hide how impressed he really is. One of his overly-long arms extend to poke at a berry, still baffled that the fruit grew where Taichi had claimed it would moons back.   
  
It's kind of wild, to see Devimon amazed at simple things like this- it's kind of wild to be chummy with  _ Devimon _ of all people. The very idea would have been unthinkable barely a couple years back- would have not only given Takeru an aneurysm, but most likely anyone who would have as much as  _ suggested _ it would have probably earned a right hook from the younger boy.   
  
But things are different, here, in this time. Not that Devimon is any less chaotic and power-hungry, mind you. Taichi has no doubts that, had they been any weaker, or should they prove to be a threat, Devimon would take up the first opportunity to strike a knife up their backs.   
  
But there is a pattern, to how things go, and what Taichi has learned is this: digimon, as a general rule, only ever seek trouble with those of equal strength. Weaker beings rarely have anything worth taking, and stronger ones are better left alone until a fight doesn't result in instant death. And Taichi's family, mega-level digimon and humans that seems to be able to recover from anything, definitely is the latter.   
  
Digimon are gamblers by nature, basically. No point in a sure win or loss. Digimon who try to take on the literal entire world, like the Dark Masters did, are but the exceptions confirming the rule.   
  
(What about those seven kids, in another time? Well, it's not like Taichi can ask now. Though, if he were to throw a guess, he'd say that prophecy is probably to blame. They were a threat, Devimon was a target, he dealt with it however poorly he could. Either that or he'd grown to love kicking puppies for whatever reasons. Both would be in character.)   
  
So, Devimon has his feuds; with Leomon and Unimon and a dozen others (not Elecmon, though, because no ones messes with Elecmon. No one wants to take the risk of dying and waking up one day with no caretaker.) Devimon is still is all dirty tricks and offending taunts and manipulations, seeking more land or respect or whatever fits his fancy at the time. But he leaves Taichi alone. And he leaves his black gears buried deep in the mountain's guts; for all his boasting, he's still smart enough to recognize antagonizing the humans would be his demise.   
  
Perks of having a teethy throat: the intimidation factor ends fights before they even begin.   
  
"I reckon primary village could really use such a technique." Devimon muses. "It can't be easy to fish every days for so many babies." It's a surprisingly good point, coming from him. Having control over the  _ where _ and  _ when _ and  _ how much _ of food is some kind of unthinkable luxury here.   
  
"It still needs improvement if Elecmon is gonna use it, though." Taichi replies.  _ Massive _ improvement- primary village has a lot more mouths to feed, even though they are much smaller than his owns. Besides- can Elecmon even sow on his own? Taichi doesn't remember him having any opposable thumbs whatsoever.    
  
His gaze wanders over the cottage. It'd changed a lot, since the first time they slept here. The rusty, battered trolley is now swallowed in walls of logs and stones. A fridge, a pot, and other cooking tools pile in Yamato's makeshift kitchen. Paint is sprayed on the outside walls of Sora's room, drawing a rough picture of a sky filled with birds.   
  
This is his home. He flexes his calloused hands, rough from working wood and soil and fur. This is the home he'd built.   
  
"I'm sure we'll find a way to make it work, though."


	17. Yamato - Years two, Month six

"Where did you even _find_ an oven?!"   
  
"Whamon found it, actually." Yamato's gaze is focused on the glass before him, staring straight at dough slowly raising in the heat. "Apparently someone threw it in the sea near the Koromon village? and Whamon thought of us when he saw it."   
  
"That's pretty nice of him. We'll have to thank him later." Yamato hears rummaging, and he feels warm lips on his cheek. Innocent as it is, the gentle tickle of Sora's hair and the softness of her kisses never fail to make him blush. "So, what kind of cake should we expect?"   
  
"Hopefully an edible one. I just kinda threw together flour and eggs and sugar randomly." Sue him, baking books aren't exactly commonplace around here. He doesn't even know if digimon bake.   
  
"Aw, give yourself some credit,  _ love _ " Yamato cringes at that; Taichi  _ knows _ of his dislike of pet names, so  _ of course _ he only ever uses the cheesiest most sickening ones. "Anything's edible if you try hard enough."   
  
" _ Honey _ , you once ate literal fish bait and told me it 'tasted like vanilla'. That statement is more a testament of your insane stomach's ability than my own cooking skills." He's still not sure, to this day, if Taichi was fucking with him or not.   
  
"Neither of you should be alive right now." Sora deadpans- or tries to, anyway, but at the corner of his vision her smile betrays her.   
  
They laugh- it's carefree and light, like a feather in the air; like caution thrown at the wind, like expectations at the sky, anxiety at the waves. They were never ones for limits.   
  
"Kinda related but not really," Taichi says, kissing the corner of Sora's mouth "speaking of Whamon, I was thinking- what do you guys think of opening a trade route with Server?"   
  
"A trade route, hm." Through the looking glass, the cake turns into a pretty golden. Yamato hesitates for a second, then turns off the oven. "Why not? Gotta expand our horizons and stuff. Also pass me the oven mitts."   
  
Sora throws him a pair of thick leather gloves- more adapted to biking than cooking, but Yamato wasn't aware he would finally be the happy owner of an oven until this very morning. "I could fly over there with Hououmon. See if anyone's interested in trading with us."

“I’ve never been to Server.” Biyomon comments. “Well, I  _ have _ , but, you know. Not here.” She frowns- about as much as a bird is able to, anyway- and slaps a four of spades on the table, making Gabumon gasps. “That sounds fun!”   
  
"If you run into Etemon, please. Whack him for me." Taichi adds. "I dunno if he's back and if he took over Server or something. But if he is. Please. His fursuit is begging for an asskicking. Can you hear this, this whisper between the leaves? It's the universe crying out for someone to kick his monkey ass.”   
  
"If the universe itself is asking, then I shall. Who am I to deny the universe?” Sora jokingly flexes- and Yamato has to swallow. Hard. Years of tennis, added to however long they’ve been living here, gifted her with some jacked arms.

“This does raise the question though,” Yamato says, carefully setting the cake on the table “ _is_ Etemon actually wearing a fursuit?”

“I. Don’t know. Probably not?” Taichi rubs his chin, where a short beard had started to grow “the fursuits Hikari had showed me were way prettier than this, even I will admit it.”

“If Etemon is wearing a fursuit then that would mean Gabumon is too.” Sora points out.

“Ok. Etemon isn’t wearing a fursuit then. Got it.” No amount of Etemon roasting is worth doing this to his beloved partner. None.

“What’s a fursuit?” Gabumon looks up from his cards, missing Agumon shamelessly spying on his hand-

There is  _ sound _ .

Yamato slaps both hands over his ears, wincing. It’s a tear, of sort; like paper ripping, like cloth seams coming apart. But it’s the tearing of something much more resistant- the tearing of something silently  _ screaming _ the whole time.

There is a tear, and  _ light _ .

A figure, two, step inside the room. It takes Yamato a few seconds to recognize them as human.

It takes him a dozen more to realize who they are.

He’s different from Yamato’s hazy memories. Taller, he’s sure. Thinner, too. When he speaks up, his voice is a lot deeper as well. But…

Eyes blue as the sky, hair golden as wheat. Hands shaking with anxiety, and something strong and deep and desperate-

**_Hope_ ** .

“Takeru?”

His brother flings himself over Yamato and starts crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be honest and say that I don't remember writing half this fic tbh  
> but i DO remember I had fun writing it, so hopefully you had as much fun reading it as I had crafting it.  
> Godspeed, y'all.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a review in passing! :D The tumblr & Pillowfort are versegm!
> 
> also CHECK OUT THAT RAD ART YOOO http://kaminene.tumblr.com/post/181849324876/little-things-i-did-based-on-verses-versegm


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